The Course
Early morning and the overnight
high tide has erased
yesterday's scribble, wiped
the beach clean of all the scarring
left by human feet. I stare.
Before me a wide, smooth
stretch of sand.
I shall be the first to score
its surface, plant my footsteps
to mark a presence. I step
and each fall of a clumsy foot
records my path. I stop, look back
to see my tread has not been
straight but held a meandering course
as if my mind
has been transcribed in sand
if not the history of my life.
Seagulls join me to leave
their presence recorded in the print
of much smaller feet.
The morning is clear and lovely.
Tomorrow, all will be gone.
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